Never Let Me Go
by scully1138
Summary: Rinch warning! Harold dreams of John returning, and John regrets walking out. But is it too late for them to be reunited? This story takes place post-Aletheia, but it's completely AU. It's also set completely within the little world of my story The Boundary Dweller, so I recommend reading that one first. This is non-explicit Rinch, but rated for some sensuality.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Heartfelt thanks to Wuchel1 for reviewing this story. Thank you for being there when I lose all objectivity where John and Harold are concerned, which is all the time.

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Never Let Me Go

Chapter 1

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_A squawk went up from the terns as Bear plowed into their midst, scattering the birds and sending spray from the Indian Ocean into the air. A familiar voice whispered "I love you, Harold," and soft kisses were trailed down his neck and throat, deepening when they reached his mouth. The sand was hot against his naked skin and the tide eased in and out around them, but only John filled his senses as they made love on the private beach of their Seychelles retreat…_

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Still half asleep, Harold lay enveloped in the happiness of his dream for a few blissful moments before consciousness fully returned.

Then reality pushed in, and with it the crushing awareness that life would never again offer him such sweetness.

He willed his eyes open, and looked around the empty loft. He hadn't been able to let it go after John departed, and this was what his mornings were like now - cold and silent and still.

It hadn't always been so. Not long ago mornings were warm and tender, with John unable to resist the temptation of kissing or caressing him awake so that they could continue exploring their love in every way they could imagine - until mornings had become afternoons had become sublime luxurious nights once again.

And there had been playful mornings here too, when John would summon Bear into bed for a sneak attack and Harold would be awakened by dog breath and sloppy licks and John's affectionate laughter at his partner's startled countenance. The Malinois would snuggle between them but John would lean around, still reaching for him over the sleeping dog with a gracefulness only the younger man possessed.

_Bear…_

He had hoped at first that the dog would bring him comfort. Instead the Malinois was a too-painful reminder of the life he had loved and lost, and Harold had asked Leon to care for the animal until he could bear to lay eyes on him again. That hadn't happened yet. He shivered in the loft's cold silence and wondered if it ever would.

On such chilly mornings Harold had sometimes feigned sleep as John pulled the covers up and tucked them under his chin - afraid to admit even to himself how much he had come to love being cherished and cared for by the other man. John would wrap his arms around him then and fall back asleep with a contented sigh, and Harold knew full well that he had never fooled his partner at all.

But most precious of all were those wondrous mornings when they would simply lie in each other's arms after a glorious night together, stunned by the miracle that they were now so entwined, so whole and healed by each other.

Harold looked over at the abandoned side of the bed - John's side of the bed - for that's what it would always be.

_Always…_

It was over now. Those rapturous times were gone forever because John was gone, having chosen to leave rather than give them their chance to heal each other once more.

And Harold was alone again.

Before John Reese had become his world Harold had grown accustomed to loneliness. It threaded through his life in much the same way that anti-virus programs ran on his computers - invisibly in the background and just as reliable, just as accepted.

But he had recklessly allowed a singular man to fill the void he hadn't acknowledged - he had allowed himself to experience fulfillment beyond his most outrageous dreams. And now John's desertion had left him with whatever it was that existed beyond loneliness. Emptiness? Hollowness? Meaninglessness?

Harold struggled to put a name to the feeling before deciding he simply didn't care, and let his head fall back listlessly on the pillow.

He had never expected to be _known_ on such a profound level as he had been with John. And he wondered now if he had been wrong to reveal himself so vulnerably, if it would have been better never to have known such intimacy - and then lose it.

But he already knew the answer - that he would rather live with the pain of his loss than give up the memory of John slipping a protective arm around him while he slept, of John ruffling his hair and kissing him good morning, of John touching him and taking command of his body, bringing him to the edge of forever before shattering all his senses and-

A shuddering sob escaped him at the finality - at the _never again - _of it all.

Harold stroked the empty side of the bed and tried to imagine John beneath his hand - the handsome teasing face, the strong battle-scarred chest, the magnificent manhood that had once belonged to him alone. But the sheets were too cold, the mattress too unyielding and he couldn't summon the images to his mind's eye.

But there was another bed - a low bed sheltered by palm trees on the warm secluded deck of the Seychelles home where they had made love for the first time. Those sweet memories beckoned, as strong and seductive as the laudanum he took for his back, as enticing as a Siren's song he had no desire to resist.

Harold closed his eyes and let the sensations return to him, as vivid now as on that first night.

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_Moonlight reflecting the need in John's eyes. The reverence of his touch as he gently removed Harold's clothes, and their trembling explorations as new lovers. Whispered devotions meant to endure for a lifetime, John's tender kisses and his soft moan as Harold had taken him. His naked body curled around Harold's when they were spent, as the Indian Ocean lulled them to sleep and a sultry breeze whispered the fragrance of wild orchids._

_A thousand bright stars filled the midnight sky, and John was in every one._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The first chapter was written in the immediate aftermath and upset of Aletheia, and intended as a one-shot. But I just couldn't leave it alone, and the following two chapters are my attempt to expand it into a full story. I hope you enjoy it!

Thanks as always to the amazing Wuchel1 for your camaraderie and ongoing support. And many thanks also to Markath. Your encouragement and interest in this story helped me more than you know.

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Never Let Me Go

Chapter 2

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The key still turned easily in the lock of his old loft, and John stared at it in surprise. He thought the place would have been cleared out months ago after his crazed departure, and now his heart pounded with anticipation - and trepidation - at finally being so near his partner again. His hand trembled as he pushed in the door.

"Harold?"

He spoke softly so as not to startle the older man - and because he knew very well that he had no right to expect a warm welcome, let alone the reunion he'd come home to seek.

But the loft was silent and cold, and John startled as he took it in. Whoever was living here now it was certainly not the impeccable Harold Finch.

The entire place was in a state of neglect. A collection of unwrapped newspapers and magazines spilled haphazardly across the desk, and a drawer had been pulled out and left hanging open as if its owner simply lacked the energy to return it to its proper position. An empty milk carton lay discarded on the counter, a stack of unwashed dishes listed neglected in the sink, and garbage threatened to overflow onto the floor.

He turned and his eyes fell on the bed - _their bed - _disheveled and left carelessly unmade.

Not as careless as he'd been when he left it, John thought bleakly.

The awareness that he had made a terrible mistake had been there almost from the beginning - hovering around the periphery of his consciousness, waiting to be let in. Running away hadn't helped, but anger and his own stubbornness had blocked out everything else and he'd drifted aimlessly for months.

He'd been sitting numbly amid the crowd at an airy Istanbul café - unable to remember what he'd been looking for or if he'd ever even known - when a single tiny bird landed at his feet and began pecking at the crumbs littering the ground. It was a little yellow serin with bright obsidian eyes, and it scavenged for a moment before looking directly at him and issuing a plaintive _cheep._

Suddenly he felt his heart just break, as literal and physical a sensation as the bitter coffee now scalding his mouth. Anger lost its grip on him, and in a terrifying moment of clarity - like awakening from a trance - he was hit with the full impact of everything he had thrown away.

And he was achingly, painfully aware that he was half a world away from the one person who really understood him, the only person who had ever been able to help.

Loving Harold - holding him, teasing him, protecting him, making love to him - had brought John a happiness he had never imagined was possible. And he wondered now if that had been the point of his actions - if he had been so afraid of losing this new-found joy that he had destroyed it himself before it could be taken from him.

He only knew that he was desperate to return home, to gather Harold into his arms and know that he was safe - and try to make everything right between them.

Remorse had fueled him as powerfully as his surging adrenaline when he finally arrived back in New York - but the Library was seemingly abandoned, the safe houses were all uninhabited, and Harold's phone number was no longer in service. Checking the loft had been an act of escalating fear, growing desperation and fading hope - and now this too had proved to be a failed endeavor.

He sank down on the edge of the undone bed and ran his hand over the rumpled sheets, letting the full weight of his loss and regret knife through him.

He'd never found Harold more irresistible than first thing in the morning. Sometimes John would simply watch the other man sleep, safe and peaceful next to him, his face naked and exposed without his glasses. He'd wait patiently for Harold's first expression as consciousness returned - often it was a shy smile at _him_ - a sight so sweet and wondrous that John would take him in his arms and begin again where they'd left off the night before. And if there was no work they'd spend the entire luxurious day together in bed, with his cooking and Harold's books for sustenance if they needed anything beyond each other.

Later on when they slept, wrapping his arms around Harold wasn't just about keeping him safe and warm and protected - although that was a nice feeling too. It was also about finally having someone to cleave to, someone he loved and trusted completely, someone to whom he had sworn devotion not in so many words but with every touch, every kiss, every time they'd made love in this very bed.

Then he had given in to the darker side of his nature and let anger blind him and drive him away from everything he cared about - actions that were incomprehensible to him now.

He stood and took a final look around the forlorn loft. Not only was the place a complete shambles, it showed signs of abandonment as well - an undisturbed layer of dust coated all the furniture and counters. By all appearances it had been deserted for some time now.

It seemed likely that the loft's mysterious, disinterested occupant had died without leaving behind so much as a single friend who cared enough to tidy up the mess of what had clearly been a lonely life, and John felt a burst of compassion for this anonymous soul.

But Harold was still out there somewhere and he couldn't stop searching until he found him.

He stole one final look at the bed and froze at the sight of a book partially hidden under the ice-cold sheets - a familiar, well-worn copy of _Great Expectations._

John stared at it paralyzed for a moment - his mind refusing to accept the only possible conclusion - and then wrenched the closet door open.

Tears welled up in his eyes at the sight of their suits - still hanging side-by-side in the closet just as they'd been the day he left. All of his clothes in fact were exactly as he had abandoned them.

And while the rest of the loft was in a state just short of squalor, _his_ things had been lovingly cared for, as if in hope of sending out a homing beacon for his safe return.

John slumped back onto the bed. Harold was outwardly so strong, but underneath there was a vulnerability only he'd been allowed to see. And he knew that Harold loved him, yet he'd been unwilling to consider the devastating effect his departure would have on the other man until now, when he could no longer deny the proof of it.

He touched his earpiece and didn't waste time with a greeting.

"Do you know where he's at, Lionel?"

"Hello to you, too."

There was sarcasm in the detective's voice but no real surprise, and then a deep exhale as if he were resigned to telling his story and just being done with it once and for all.

"I only saw him once after you took a powder. There was no word from him for weeks, and then one day he just showed up, asking for help with a case. And this was a dangerous guy he was interested in - a real lowlife. Glasses didn't look so good and he wasn't acting like himself. He seemed, you know, distracted kind of - and that'll get you into trouble in this line of work. Then he insisted on following this scumbag himself. He kept saying he just needed to get back to work. He checked in a couple times that night, then the calls stopped coming.

"They just stopped - in the middle of a case."

Fusco let the statement hang there to make sure he grasped the implication, and John felt sick as the detective's words settled over him.

"I keep checking the morgue but we both know it's not that hard to make a body disappear in this city."

There was another pause and then Lionel continued, making no attempt to keep the disgust out of his voice.

"He never should have been out there by himself and you _knew_ that. What did you think would happen to him after you left? Oh that's right you didn't think - about anyone but yourself. Well, nice job.

"Welcome to the world of unintended consequences."


	3. Chapter 3

Never Let Me Go

Chapter 3

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Harold smiled wistfully at the cheeping red and yellow sunbird perched on the expansive deck that wound around the beach house, and took another sip of his tea.

It had been a rash decision to leave New York so abruptly, but it had been the right one. He'd been fading away in the city - possessed for weeks by a despair that threatened to consume him, and simply _hurt_ in a way he didn't know how to process. So it had come as a surprise when some instinct for self-preservation eventually fought through his sorrow, but he had tried to rally and return to work with the Numbers.

It wasn't the same though, and the palpable absence of his missing partner had diverted his attention to such an extent that he'd realized almost at once that he was endangering himself and the team as well. Miss Groves - with her unique connection to the Machine - was fanatically eager to take over, and Shaw had agreed to stay on with her. Harold was satisfied that the work would continue in some new way.

A warm breeze gusted in off the ocean, rustling the fronds of the lush coco palms that edged the bungalow and spiriting away the little sunbird.

At first he'd questioned the wisdom of returning to this place where he and John had been happiest. But the Seychelles and this little island had called to him, and eventually he'd found a kind of quiet peace - a state that was neither really happy nor unhappy, but one that he could exist in.

And he felt safe here - safe from pain and loss, and surrounded by cherished memories of John that had returned with time.

He glanced at the worn copy of _Green Mansions _in his hands, and unthinkingly paraphrased Hudson:

"_I, no longer I, in a universe where he is not, and God is not…"_

He'd paid a steep price for loving John Reese, though even now he couldn't bring himself to think of it as an unreasonable one - not for the exquisite bliss he had known during their brief time together.

But he couldn't suffer another loss that profound and survive, and he had come to treasure the little bit of tranquility he'd managed to reclaim.

A cold nose nudged his hand, and Harold stroked Bear's soft fur for a few moments before relenting and giving him a treat. The Malinois thumped his tail happily then slipped through the French doors that opened onto the deck, and Harold watched the dog gallop down to the beach before returning to his book.

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John wandered around the island, amid its clusters of breadfruit trees and squawking terns, and felt a suffocating sense of déjà vu. He'd been injured and despondent the first time Harold brought him here, hoping that Dr. Galway and the charms of the little paradise would help him heal. But it was Harold who had saved him, who'd understood him and known him for everything he was - and then loved him anyway.

The narrow path led to his favorite little cove, and from there John followed it to the spot where he'd stood with Dylan Galway as the doctor pleaded with him to take care with Harold.

"_Do you love him? Because if he's really no more than an employer to you maybe you should just go now and let him be, before you end up destroying him completely."_

He was haunted by the fact that he had done both - loved Harold with all his heart and then carelessly ruined him - proving the doctor's words eerily and needlessly prophetic.

Dylan was now listed as the director of Harold's foundation - _The Crane Initiative - _and John had returned to the Seychelles to offer himself to the organization in any way that he could be of service. He had broken a trust and broken a heart in a way that was unforgivable, but he would make whatever penance was possible - if the doctor would even have him.

He took the little sloping path down to the beach and began walking in the direction of Harold's elegant bungalow. He wasn't sure what he hoped to find there, but it was a pilgrimage he needed to make in much the same way he imagined people revisiting their childhood homes - searching for clarity or closure, or just to be reminded of happier times.

_Harold…_

Beyond the sheer pleasure of being together they had simply been good for each other - the perfect complements for one another in a world that rarely made sense. He had been given a gift he didn't truly understand until it was too late, and now he carried the weight of his guilt and regret every day.

Waves broke across the shore and a sultry breeze warmed his skin just as it had the first night Harold had made love to him under a starry night sky, and suddenly the burden was too much to bear. He sunk down into the sand and buried his head in his hands.

He was so lost in his grief that he didn't notice the blur of motion in his periphery until the Malinois was almost on top of him and he was knocked wildly backward with two large paws pinning his chest and a rough wet tongue covering his face. John struggled to his knees and buried his face in the dog's soft fur.

He didn't need to look up at the deck to know who would be standing there.

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A furious racket was emanating from the beach. It was a wonder the terns still flocked there Harold mused, given Bear's diligence in tormenting them. But as the uproar continued it was apparent that there was a different tone to the Malinois' bark this time - more urgent somehow and almost keening - and he moved out onto the deck to investigate.

His body reacted before his mind could, and he felt his legs tremble beneath him even as his fragile equilibrium was ripped apart at the seams.

He didn't need to see the face of the man crushing the delirious dog to his chest.

John looked up at him then - his face flush with a stunned happiness, his eyes full of eagerness and hope - and he reached him in a few long bounds.

"Harold, I thought you were…"

Harold staggered backward and away from the other man. Every healing wound was suddenly raw and blistering again, his hurt and pain as fresh as the day John left.

John's eyes widened but he held his ground and didn't attempt to close the space between them. Harold was keenly aware that the other man was searching his face, and he watched his partner's expression fade into sadness as understanding suffused him. John took a step back then and raised his hands in the air almost as if he were surrendering - or imploring Harold not to flee.

But he also looked as if he were struggling to hold himself at bay, and fraught moments passed before he lowered his eyes and said quietly,

"Is it too late? Have I ruined it all for us?"

The mere physical presence of the other man - so unexpected and undeniably real - had robbed him of all cogent thought. His voice seemed to have deserted him too, and Harold felt paralyzed, unsure of what to say or even what he really wanted.

John took his silence for hope and took a cautious step forward.

"I made a terrible mistake - and I think I knew it from the moment I left."

He reached out and gently caressed Harold's face before brushing his fingers through his hair in that familiar way that had always undone him.

"What do you say, Harold? Can I come home?"

One more touch and he would dissolve - disappear and merge into the other man he'd always seemed destined for. But he wasn't sure he could bear to blur the boundaries between them once again - wasn't sure if he dared take that chance.

John had always been careful with him, but now his touch was feather soft as he gently brushed his lips against Harold's, his eyes asking permission for more.

But when Harold couldn't give it he broke away, sorrow etched on his face but also with a nod of acceptance as he turned to leave. Bear began to whine, confused by the tension between them, and John paused to give the dog a final bittersweet pat.

And in the instant remaining for him to decide what he needed and what he was willing to live without - what forgiveness he could grant and what he must refuse - Harold realized that there was actually no decision at all. He would always choose John, and John would always be worth the risk.

He reached out and his hand barely grazed the other man's forearm but it was enough to instantly turn him back. John seemed unwilling or unable to breathe as Harold struggled for the right words, but when he found them his voice was surprisingly strong.

"Sometimes when a thing is torn apart I believe that it's possible to put it back together again, and make it even stronger than before."

John's face lit up with cautious hope, but still he held himself back.

"Is that what _you_ want, Harold?"

A little joyful smile was playing around John's mouth and Harold knew in that moment he was truly lost. All he could manage was a tiny nod, but one look at the other man told him that nothing in the world would keep John away from him now and he let himself be pulled into his partner's arms.

John held him tightly but never more tenderly as he buried his face in Harold's neck, his words muffled but heartfelt all the same.

"_I'm sorry Harold. I'm so sorry."_

The remorse in John's voice was clear and painful. Gentle reverent kisses were raining down on him, and Harold realized that the other man was shaking with relief.

He was finally able to gaze into John's eyes then, and Harold tried to convey all that he was feeling with one look - that he was happy, that it was okay now, that somehow together they would make everything all right again.

Apparently the message had been received because the kisses turned into a playful nuzzling, and the best kind of mischief returned to John's eyes as he leaned in with a whisper, his voice a little breathless,

"I'll make it all up to you Harold."

"You most certainly will Mr. Reese."

In response his mouth was parted and explored with such exquisite delicacy as to leave no doubt that the promise would be fulfilled, soon and forever, and his senses began to blur.

John cast his eyes longingly at the deck's low bed, but Harold took his hand and gently pulled him toward the beach.

A certain dream had never really gone away…

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_White seabirds scattered across a cerulean sky, and a familiar voice whispered "I love you so much Harold, I'll never let you go." Gentle fingers twined through his as the swelling ocean washed over them, carrying discarded clothing out to sea. A tender embrace caught him and possessed him, John's touch making him whole. Passionate kisses covered his mouth…his throat…the back of his neck…and pain drained away into the fine warm sand as he gave himself to John and the elements. They were finally home._

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FIN

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A/N: Thank you, thank you so much to everyone who read and left reviews for this story. Every review means the world to me, and I'm very grateful.

And a special note to my guest reviewer who was sad that Never Let Me Go spilled over into the world of The Boundary Dweller: I was heartbroken too! So I hope you're reading this, and that this blissful ending for John and Harold makes you - and all of my wonderful readers - as happy as it does me.


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